And deftly shakes them to release
A churning rainbow gently earthward.
High above some geese move southward.
A jagged line that moves and bends
As it's swept by the cold north wind.
The sound of their passing often falls
On ears that are listening for their call.
But sometimes now, more than before
It's covered up by the sounds of war.
The dancing leaves are never seen
As the modern war runs by machine.
Nolan L. Julian
1974